Before the Dawn
by EmiliaMartakis
Summary: Historical! Victorian! Hetalia. (NorDen) When Lukas Bondevik's family travels to Copenhagen from Norway to secure the betrothal of his younger sister to the son of a Danish lord, not all goes as planned- in a strange twist of fate, Lukas and the son, Lars Hansen, fall in love instead. But when their relationship is pushed to the limits, will they, and their love, survive?
1. PROLOGUE

_Lars_

How does the romance begin?

I mused over for a while. My romance began inconsiderately. It was so easy; just to begin it. The kiss that changes a state of mind and leads to the unavoidable. The agreement of bodies, the agreement of souls. And that awareness that you're doing something illegal.  
But how does the romance end? This question tormented me like hell. I didn't know the answer but I would give everything to know it.

It was close to ten o'clock and I knew he was waiting for my call. The whole manor still wasn't asleep.  
I took a look at the enormous bookcase made of oak. There were many voluminous books. The Aeneid. Macbeth. Voltaire's Letters. Books for the intellectuals. There, on the wall nearby, honours from the army. Beneath, my scribblings for the next composition.

And for what do I need this all for while he is not with me?

I recalled everything I've learned. Everything I managed to learn for these twenty eight years of my life. I looked at my reflection in the window, huffed on it with the heat of my breath and drew some mysterious sign. That was a face of a man in the window, a tired face of some man that led so many different lives, who was desolate, knowing his situation won't change in the next years.

All of a sudden I recalled myself on one of these warm nights I spent with Lukas in the library that belonged to my parents. He was reading aloud. It was the beautiful story of Anna Karenina and Count Vronsky. When he finished, he had tears in his beautiful blue eyes, though he never really cried, not him.

"Is it going to end up like this...?" he asked. I kept silent. We kissed but it didn't change anything.

I was afraid that the verdict had been already pronounced. That we were doomed to stay in a void in perpetuity, to toss about between one meeting and another. Only in the night could we be together for these couple of hours.

I lived for these short moments, I counted time with them. I couldn't think about any other things yet, and I knew he couldn't stand a thought that when we didn't see each other I was with his cousin, my wife. That I kissed her, touched her and made love with her. Not even caring for her.

Probably that thought saved him from losing his mind.

We didn't belong to each other and I was painfully aware of that we never will.

* * *

**Hei! This story comes from an RP between my friend Vera and I, and I'll update as the story progresses. She's an amazing writer, and writes for Lars, while I, being the Norway RPer and fanatic that I am, write for Lukas. Please feel free to leave a review, they really make my day :) and I'll pass everything along to her as well!**


	2. CHAPTER 1

1

_Lars_

November, 1895

It was a very rainy day in Copenhagen.  
I was staring through the window, sitting in a comfortable armchair at the warmth of flames in the fireplace. With a decanter of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other one. My dearest sister Lovise was with me, keeping me company.

She could understand my situation better than anyone else.

Scarcely did I come back from my journey to Russian Empire a few days ago, that our parents announced that they had found a fiancée for me. In the first moment I laughed because it sounded like some kind of unfunny joke. But they weren't kidding and that was a problem. My father was this kind of open-minded and intelligent person, but he treated the issue of my wedding very seriously. My mother was more restrained and she didn't spare me while talking about the advantages of my future wife and scolding me for neglecting such an important issue as the marriage.

We had a very long row since I was already twenty eight and after my previous marriage I hadn't even thought about settling down once again. Those memories were still haunting me but my father didn't care- he knew better. He and mother stated that I have to set up my household before I turn thirty and have male children. I was their only son and I had to take the responsibility for Hansen family.

They showed me a photograph of her. It changed my reluctance a bit; she was the most beautiful maiden I have ever seen. Emilia Bondevik, because that was her name, had delicate features, long white-blond hair falling freely on her porcelain shoulders, two bright blue eyes that looked shyly at the lens. She came from Norway and their family was exalted there. A family with money and traditions.

A perfect girl for me, stated my mother.

But somehow all these things didn't change my mind. That the ceremony was going to take place on the sixth of December - the day of my birth - also didn't comfort me. My parents thought it was the perfect date and that the marriage would be the best present for me.

And to make the things worse, Emilia and her family have decided to visit us in Copenhagen to fix the details of the wedding. My first emotion was paranoia. I wasn't prepared for that.

Only one day was left for their visit. That's why I was drinking.

"Let's hope for the best." Lovise was trying to cheer me up. "Maybe she will turn out to be okay for you. Oh, please, Lars, don't worry so much."

She stood behind me and placed her fingers on my temples. I closed my eyes; it was very relaxing.

"That girl is not the problem." I grabbed her hands and looked up at her face. Lovise was so similar to our father, they both had green eyes, whilst I had blue, just like our mother. "The problem is that I'm not willing to get married right now, when the memories and wounds are still painful," I add quietly. Lovise hugs me and rested her chin on my head.  
"I know, Lars, I know," she whispered as I inhaled the cigarette.  
"The Bondeviks must be on the ferry now," I mumbled, not looking forward to the tomorrow.


	3. CHAPTER 2

2

_Lukas_

November, 1895

"You can't be serious," I had scoffed, though, even then, in my heart I knew it was true. We- my family and I- were traveling to Copenhagen, Denmark to meet the family of my sister's fiancé, some obscure Dane whose name I had only heard in passing before now. Before this. Before my parents- my father- simply decided to give Emilia away, to practically sell her to these people of whom I know nothing. My sister, she's still a child, too young for the world, and certainly too young for marriage. Even now, when she turns to me, soft blue eyes wide with wonder and elation at the prospect of her new life, the one she herself knows nothing of, in all sense, I see a little girl, shyly smiling as she hides behind our mother's skirts in the face of company, clutching her favorite little doll from years past. I'll see her that way the rest of my life, this I know. Having grown up with her, known her her whole life-and only I can claim this right, our parents never paid us any mind beyond our manners and appearances- she will always be that little girl to me. A little girl in a wedding dress, given to a strange man in a strange land.

"Look over there, Lukas," Emilia cries joyfully, pointing at a statue erected in some park. "Who is that man, do you think?" She clutches her bonnet to her head, dressed in a brocade gown with an ermine wrap. Pretty as morning, she is, even without trying.

"That's Hans Christian Andersen," I reply, eyes trained to her. I've noticed a few of the men here giving her appreciative looks- why Father did not send us with a few men, I shall never know. Some things are simply common sense. "He was a Danish author, famous for his fairy-stories."

She smiles. "Fairy-stories? How delightful." After giving the statue a quick examination, she moves on, heading in the direction of the gardens. I start to follow her before she turns back to me and rolls her eyes. "You do not have to follow me, bror. I shall be perfectly safe."

I sigh and take a seat on a stone bench by a cluster of bushes. "I just worry, that's all."

She nods, then smiles a little again. "I know. But it's unnecessary. I'll be back," she says, and with that, Emilia flounces off towards the park gardens. I watch her retreating figure as it slowly disappears. Now alone, I don't seem to know what to do. I glance around, fiddle with the last button on my suit-coat. Over the past few days, my whole life has been revolving around her, as she is to be married off soon. After her, I suppose I myself am to have some poor girl from another wealthy family given to me as my lawfully wedded wife, to live with, have children with, as I assume my father's business. Not a particularly pleasing topic in any regard, but we all know our roles, though I suppose that includes Emilia. At the very least, however, I hope my wife will be pretty, if not an especially witty or intelligent girl.

"Ex-excuse me, sir, but w-would you like to b-buy a flower?"

Startled, I turn around sharply to see a young girl, dressed in what seems to be scrap cloth rudely stitched together to resemble a coat, staring at me like I'm some kind of god in the flesh who has just appeared before her eyes. Ah, another one of these girls. Poor, simple folk they are, taken in so by me. Yes, my sister is very beautiful, but she is not the only one in the family noted for their looks, however vain you now think me. I can assure you that I not, by far, the most vain of my family.

"No thank you," I reply pleasantly in Norwegian, not even bothering to try to reply in my somewhat poor Danish (I said I was not vain!). To be fair to myself however, my family and I did only arrive this morn in Copenhagen, coming out to meet the bridegroom and his family. I suppose I can asses for myself the kind of man she will be marrying, and endure their attempts to pass their daughter, if they have one, onto me. What an agreement between our families should that be the case- Father is set for life! how good for the family. The occasion is this evening.

"Now go away, girl," I continue in the same tone. "I have nothing for you here. Get on with you." I have things to see tonight.


	4. CHAPTER 3

3

_Lars_

"I'm off for some time," I say, putting on a warm coat. "I have to think it all over."

Lovise understands. She nods and reminds me to take a scarf. I tend to forget it every time I'm outside.

"Don't be out for too long," she says, worried. "Our parents will come later on to talk over tomorrow's meeting. And it's cold."

"Don't worry about me, kære," I bring myself to smile and kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be back soon."

The doorman opens the door for me and I walk outside to meet the cold Northern wind and rain. I put on my leather gloves and start marching, even though the weather conditions aren't good. I am a typical introvert; I need some time alone, to think the things over, wonder. My father hates that feature of mine, he says that I'm too nostalgic and pessimistic. "Goethe destroyed happiness", he tends to say often.

But I'm like that and I can't change. I don't want to change. Thanks to these negative emotions, I'm able to write. Paradoxically, the sadness is a great catalyst when it comes to artistic skills.

I have always been a pessimist, very romantic inside and I tend to alienate myself. Mostly, but not always. This came along with being in the army. Things I have seen during the missions caused endless nervous breakdowns and sleepless nights. That's why I started writing - to handle with all these emotions rumbling and whirling inside my head.

I go to a pub. Even though I know I should be more sober than ever, to meet with my parents and with my fiancée tomorrow morning, I'm acting in defiance of everything.

I sit in the corner and order akvavit and dark beer, typical Scandinavian spirits. When the waiter brings my liquors, I drink beer first, then aquavit from a shot glass. It's solid and leaves nice aftertaste. As I sit and order next turn, I start thinking about my future wife. Emilia Bondevik. I'm still angry at that intrigue my parents prepared, but on the other hand Emilia seems to be an interesting person. So many questions appear in my head: Is her hair really so white? What's her voice like? Have her lips ever been kissed by anyone? What are her character and temper like…?

I want to postpone my return to my manor as long as I can because I know what is going to happen. I will be told the same things over and over again. How I should dress, how I should behave, that I shouldn't mention my ex-wife or anything connected with her…

When I start to think about it, I immediately get a headache.

My wife. The only thought about me and her makes me shiver and not because I'm cold or she was so beautiful. I just don't like to go back to these memories and I'd rather avoid talking, or even thinking about it.

After four parts of aquavit I know I'm already drunk enough to come back and face my parents.  
When I leave the pub, it's already dark outside. I know it's cold but after so much alcohol I feel a pleasant warmth all over my body. I keep smiling under my breath and try to get back home.

When I finally come back, the servants take my coat and I immediately hear my mother's raised voice:  
"Lars, dear young man, where have you been?!" She addresses me in English and I decide to speak in Danish, just to make her angry.

"Outside," I mumble, when I walk in the living room. The first thing I do is light a cigarette. My mother glares at me, angry. She hates back-talk; the same with my father.

"I haven't raised you to act like this," my mother snorts. "Just look at you, you're completely drunk when your fiancée is arriving tomorrow morning, along with her family!"

"I don't care," I say, inhaling. Lovise looks at me, worried. "I'm old enough, Mother, I can handle it myself."

"Erik, have you heard that?" She addresses my father. "We don't have to help you, Lars."

"Your mother is right, son," he says. "We chose the best maiden for you in the whole Danish Kingdom and…"

"I didn't ask for it!" I hit the roof all of a sudden. Jesus fuckin' Christ, they're talking to me as if I was a little boy! "I don't want to get married now, not after all this shit that has happened!"

As I lose my temper, I stand up and decide to leave the room. I slam the door and go sit in the kitchen. It is Lovise who comes to me after a couple of minutes. She finds me at the table, completely numb and immersed in thoughts. I startle when she touches my hand.  
"Is everything fine, Lars?" She asks.

"Nothing's fine, Lovise, as you see," I snort, staring out the window.


	5. CHAPTER 4

4

_Lukas_

"Hurry, darling, we leave in a few minutes!"

My mother's voice resounds throughout the hall of our temporary home, the mansion of another of my father's business friends. Business friends, those he has much of, though many of them are or were in his debt before, so is it truly friendship? I tend to think not. I step out into the hall, buttoning the last clasp on the wrists of my suit, and promptly examining the shine of the gold against the black.

"Where are Father and Emilia?" I ask, glancing over at her.

She shrugs delicately. "Getting ready, I suppose. The staff here is much more lax than our own; I shall have to speak with your father about it. My lady's maid even had to show one of the servants how to fasten a corset properly! This all comes from not living with any female company- that man needs to remarry. A wife could liven up this dour place," she adds with a disparaging look at the stag head mounted on the wall above us. Her thin lips are pursed to a red line, pale cheeks tinted with rouge and graying blonde hair pulled back into an elaborate coif. She holds a black lace fan and is dressed in a deep burgundy silk Victorian gown, the latest fashion in England.

"I'm sure his mistress would be more than happy to move in with him," I suggest delicately, assuming an innocent look.

My mother throws me an annoyed look, disapproval clear in her blue eyes, the exact shape and shade of my own. "If we had raised you properly, this sort of nonsense would never have left your tongue. Shame on you, son. I thought that the governesses and tutors could have instilled some sort of respect and etiquette in you and your sister, but it seems I was wrong. Even the French ones seem to have failed on the likes of you."

I smile at her woodenly. "A shame indeed, dear Mother. Perhaps if you had set eyes on the likes of my sister and myself more than twice a week, we would have been children more to your taste."

She flushes to almost the same shade as her dress. "Do not disrespect me, boy. Your father and I had our reasons. Now quick, compose yourself into something fit for company-your sister and father are coming. It would be unseemly for them to see us in this way," she hisses to me, arranging her features into a smile. It is rather disturbing sometimes in all the ways we are alike, my mother and I-looks, manner, personality. Perhaps that is why we detest each other so.

I nod once, and turn to look as Emilia and my father walk into the hall.

"Dear sister," I call to her. "You are a vision to my sore eyes. Do come closer, so that I may see and admire." The glance my lovely mother shoots me from the corner of her eye nearly causes me to laugh aloud from the sheer incredulity of it. Across the hall, Emilia smiles and picks up her skirts, hustling over towards me.

"Do you like it?" she asks joyfully. "I thought you might; this is a wonderful color on me, isn't it?"

She twirls in her new dress, pretty as a picture. I nod in response, though she could make even a suit look good on her, most likely. White-blonde hair curled down her back and over her shoulders, with a beautiful midnight blue evening gown and a pearl necklace, a gift from Father-she looks breathtaking, and I hope her betrothed agrees. But how can he not?

"You're looking well, son," my father says, a slightly pained expression on his face as he checks his pocket-watch before looking me up and down. "Healthy."

"The boy is too slim," Mother interjects, an infuriatingly knowing expression on her face, though I can't imagine why. "And hardly like a boy at all-look at those eyes! Just like my own, they are, down to the color and length of the lashes. He's too pretty, Jensen, no girls will desire him for a husband, and where will that leave us?"

"No girls will desire me?" I ask her softly, smirking a little. "If only you knew, Mother. Why, even this very morning-" She gives me a venomous look, and motions for me to shut up.

Father looks me up and down again, piercing green eyes behind his spectacles lingering on my face. "Too pretty, you say?" he asks. I raise my eyebrows in agreement. "Not when he grows a beard, like every man should. Give it time, Benedikte, he'll grow out of it."

Emilia, displeased by the lack of attention she's receiving, speaks up, saying, "We really must go now. Come Mother, Father, Lukas. Our carriage awaits us, and my betrothed."


	6. CHAPTER 5

5

_Lars_

It's a very heated atmosphere from the earliest hours in the biggest and the most presentable manor belonging to my parents.

I'm wearing grey coat with covered buttons and a matching waistcoat along with dark trousers, a short turnover shirt collar and a floppy bow tie. The wind winnows my hair and it's messy again, though I really tried to have a proper hairdo. But in fact, I've never had one; my hair has always been messy.  
I'm smoking a cigarette and my father glances at his pocket watch every now and then.

"We sent the carriage for them," says my father. I want to say something ironic but I bite my tongue and keep silent.

"Lovise, are you ready?!" I hear my mother shouting from downstairs at my sister. I stub my cigarette out and decide to call on my sister.

"I'll check on her," I say to my mother and walk upstairs, to Lovise's room. I knock tentatively.

"Come in!" She calls back and I enter the room—her lady's maid exits at the same time. Lovise is standing in front of the mirror in the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. With her bouffant hairdo and hourglass figure she looks like one of those ideal Gibson Girl models. She turns around and looks at me. "How do I look...?"

"If I wasn't your brother, I'd be dying to marry you," I chuckle, leaning against the door frame.

She twirls and giggles. She is so young, only eighteen, and already so many rich men want to propose to her. For the time being our father still refuses them, but I know who he is keeping an eye on; one Swedish aristocrat, second cousin of the Swedish king, is looking for a wife, and my father means to provide him with one.

"I want to dance!" She says suddenly, turning on the gramophone she keeps on a stand nearby. I agree, amused, and we bow and start dancing some strange version of waltz, doubling up with laughter.

"Lars, Lovise, what are you doing?!"The sudden appearance of our mother spoils the fun.

"Oh mum, we were just practicing the waltz, that's all," says Lovise, chuckling.

"Go downstairs, the Bondeviks will arrive at any moment," she says and leaves the room. When she walks away, I say, "Sometimes I think we were adopted."

We laugh again and then Lovise grabs my arm. As we walk downstairs Father casts a glare at us. We're still giggling when all of a sudden we can hear our butler saying that the carriage with the Bondeviks has arrived.

"Behave," warns our father. I run through my hair with my fingers and deadpan, but only slightly.

"We'll be fine." And Lovise smiles at me in such a joyful way that I can't help returning it.


	7. CHAPTER 6

6

_Lukas_

"We're here," my father says as the carriage rumbles to a stop. He pulls back the curtains on the window, glancing out, his eyes flicking over the Hansen residence. Beside me, Emilia bites the corner of her lip, her nervousness tangible as her eyes roam around the inside of the carriage for the fortieth, fiftieth time. I look at her from the plush seat opposite her and Father.

"It'll go well," I tell her, my voice flat from the repetition. In all honesty though, it doesn't matter-the match is made, they are getting married unless she's found especially displeasing, which won't happen.

"Time to meet your betrothed, my dear," Mother says to her as Father steps out of the carriage-the whole cabin moves from the loss of his weight- and then extends a hand to her. After that, he helps my sister out, and then I finally climb out myself. The footman, who decided only recently to make an appearance, shuts the door behind me and hops back onto the carriage, driving it to the stables. We stand before the entrance, all wrapped up in furs and the finest wool available, when the door is opened and a man, dressed in a suit much like my father's own, strides out towards us.

"Jensen," he calls. "Jensen, you must come inside."

Father nods and laughs amiably as Mother slides her hand through his arm and they set off, following what must be Lord Hansen inside the mansion. I glance at Emilia- her eyes are set forward determinedly- before offering her my arm. Mouth twitching, she takes it, and we soon follow. Stepping inside the house, it's a lot to take in at once-not so very different from our own in the rich outskirts of Oslo, but it certainly has an interesting feel. And the people coming to us are certainly interesting as well. The mother, Hansen's lady wife, and my own mother kiss each other on both cheeks, then begin to chat with each other about little silly things, such as the color of the drapes or the state of lady's maids these days, an endless exchange of false complements flowing between them.

Standing near her mother, a young woman has her eyes on me- a pretty creature most definitely, but not holding any particular interest for me. If I want pretty, all I must do is look at my sister. However, I smile at her charmingly, kiss her hand, inquire her name and the like, simply going through the forms of chivalry and graciousness. Mother is looking at us in the corner of her eye-some sort of scheme in the making, no doubt. Best to keep this short then. I excuse myself from her and take a step back towards my sister.

"What do you think so far?" I breathe to her. Her eyes flick up to me, wide and very blue.

She holds her lace fan over her mouth to hide her words. "I don't know. I'd say it's too early in the evening to tell anything about the family. We'll see how the dinner goes, I suppose."

I nod, discreetly, and look elsewhere, clicking the heels of my shoes together. My gaze falls upon a man standing in the corner, his hands clasped together firmly, but gracefully. A grey coat with a matching silk waistcoat adorns him, a large, artfully arranged bow tie draws the eye up to his face. He happens to be looking in my direction at the moment, his dark blue eyes, nearly almond-shaped, are trained to mine. For a reason I cannot name, it makes me feel distinctly uncomfortable; I glance back at my sister, but she is talking to the young woman- Lovise if I do recall-and is not facing the man. Out of simple curiosity, I glance towards him again- his piercing eyes are still there, still looking in my direction.

For once, I am not sure what to do. It's not as if I haven't had attention directed at me before, but with young, silly girls it's quite different; I can always read them, discern their thoughts fairly quickly, but not so with him. It seems the man is an academic based on his carriage and fashion-and of course, the needing of a shave. Blond stubble tinted with a hint of brown shadows his jaw and along the top of his neck; something should have been done about that. Is this the man my sister is to be married to? I assume as much, and with a sudden spurt of boldness, I walk over and introduce myself.

"Excuse me sir, may I ask your name?" I ask him. I have to look up- he's several centimetres taller than myself, and his gaze is even more intense and startling this close.


	8. CHAPTER 7

7

_Lars_

And finally that moment comes.  
My expectations don't match what I see. First, it's the man, the head of the Bondevik family. Tall, well-built, but still quite plump. He struts heavily, dressed in elegant dark fur. When our servant takes the fur from him, I see a black-grey waistcoat that is fitted tightly to his belly. It's quite funny but his facial expression doesn't show any emotion.

The Lady Bondevik is nearly his opposite; she is elegant and petite, her hair tied in a severe bun, eyes beautiful but a bit blurry, dark blue, almost violet. She definitely has too much make-up on her face but my mother did the same, not paying any mind to the fact that she looks like a buffoon. The dress of the Lady is long, the same with her gloves that reach her elbow. When I look into her face I'm sure she used to be a beauty when she was younger.

And then I spot the girl that I am supposed to marry in a month.

In reality she looks even younger than in the photograph, and much prettier. She is beautiful, her pale skin shines like porcelain and her bright blue eyes look at the world with a curiosity of a child.

Because she _is_ still a child. She looks like a fourteen-year-old girl. I don't feel disappointed, it's not that. I rather feel... like a father for her, even though it's only nine year age gap between us, not twenty nine (what still could happen). How can I look at her as at my wife, a woman, when she is still a little girl?

And when I look at my age (well, okay, a bit younger, people usually give me 24 years)...?

It's not my fiancée who takes my breath away.

It's a young man who does it, a man of Lady Bondevik's eyes. So it must be my future wife's brother. Why has nobody told me about him, that I will be having such a beautiful - I think it's the most proper epithet for him - brother-in-law?

I observe him sideways, he looks uptight, confused with the whole situation. When he takes off his coat, I can get a full view at his slim body. In that moment, he spots me. I don't withdraw, I endure that intense look in those Pacific eyes. I drown and drown in them forever until he approaches me while I still stand, stunned by his beauty. Is it even possible to be so beautiful, isn't it a sin...? His features are delicate, almost like they should belong in a woman's face.

Of course, I have seen many beautiful men, I have slept with some- in the literary community it's not much of a bizarre thing. Love is love, it really doesn't matter whom you desire. Of course, I don't flaunt it, I keep it secret because loving a man is still punishable by law and I am not a person who would be able to survive in prison for a long time.

I still remember the tragic love between Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine - I even met them during my visit to Paris. I didn't know they were together; however, I suspected something. But only two years ago their affair was found out, and Paul went to jail. My parents considered his deed as gross and thought it was right to punish him like that. I wrote a letter to him, sending it discreetly but I still haven't gotten his response.

When he approaches and asks my name, I watch his perfect face once again. There's something mysterious in him, it really makes me want to reveal his secret.

"Lars Søren Hansen. Let's be on first name terms with each other," I introduce myself, smirking. "All in all, we're going to be family soon, aren't we?" I ask rhetorically, adding some irony too. When I see a small smile on his face, I know he understands.

"And your name is...?"


End file.
